


all the magic I have known

by LadyMerlin



Series: RoyEd Month 2020 [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Canon Disabled Character, Day 26, Edward Elric Swears, Edward Elric is a wizard, Epistolary, Friends to Lovers, M/M, RoyEd Month 2020, canon fusion, professional handwaving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: Before she died, Trisha Elric was a witch. Edward Elric receives a Hogwarts Letter.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: RoyEd Month 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716067
Comments: 17
Kudos: 87
Collections: RoyEd month





	all the magic I have known

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the summary; RL is incredibly stressful and my brain is in a thousand pieces. 
> 
> Trying something new with this fic. I was torn between setting this in the canon-appropriate timeline (i.e. 1910, when Ed was canonically eleven years old), but then I realised I don’t have enough time to come up with a whole new set of professors (excluding Dumbledore, who was apparently born in 1881) and stuff. Instead, I’m setting this two/three years before Harry turns up at Hogwarts (i.e. 1991). 
> 
> Also, I feel compelled to explain that I don’t actually love JKR’s idea that there aren’t many other schools of magic elsewhere around the world, and really Ed should have attended Durmstrang which at least sounds German - even though canon is vague and full of racist tropes - but well, the prompt was Hogwarts, and I’m both lazy and tired *jazz hands*

1 September 1989 (1st year)

Al, 

I hate it here. Hogwarts is a drafty old castle full of ghosts (literally) and moving fucking staircases. I haven’t seen any elevators or escalators or even ramps around the castle, so I don’t know how the fuck they’re expecting you to get around, when you come here. 

I asked some snotty blonde twerp who was standing next to me and she gave me the dirtiest look and said ‘ _magic_ ’, like the answer was so obvious it hurt him to say it. I don’t care, that’s a crappy fucking answer, and also he has a face like a rat. You’ll be proud to know that I didn’t tell him that to his face, though I make no promises that I’ll be as restrained in the future. 

I’ve been sorted into the smart house, as expected. I’m glad Teacher told us about the talking hat, or I might have reacted… poorly. Raven-something, can’t remember, don’t care. I know you’re interested in all this stuff, though, so…

The dormitories are separated by houses (there’s four of these - the smart, the brave, the cunning, and the duffers - this is a direct quote by rat face, don’t shout at me) and then by gender. I understand girls can come to the boys rooms, but boys can’t go to the girls rooms. If Winry were here, I think she’d take the place apart brick-by-brick. 

I’ve got eight compulsory classes: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, and Flying, which I think is some form of physical education. Not optimistic, though I should be able to hold my own after everything Teacher taught us. Copy of my timetable enclosed. I understand there’s a copying spell but the librarian refused to teach it to me, so I copied the thing by hand. I hope you appreciate it... 

Transfiguration sounds a lot like Alchemy, but apparently they’re different subjects. There’s an Alchemy elective available in third or fourth year. Apparently the headmaster of this school - Albus, I think? - is one of the few people with a mastery in Alchemy. Might hang around him a bit, if I’ve got some spare time. 

Anyway, I’m really tired. I ate a lot at dinner. I’ll have more written as soon as Rose gets back. Stay safe, Al. 

Ed

P.S. Feed the bat. My blood probably wasn’t enough to sustain her for the entire trip.

P.P.S. The journey was uneventful. I’m safe. Food’s good. Wish you were here. 

  
  


***

  
  


10 October 1989 (1st year)

Al, 

So apparently I get to come home for Christmas. It’s not like we celebrate anyway, so I asked if you could visit instead, but Flitwick said that’s not allowed, so I’ll be coming home. I asked if they could make arrangements for me to actually get home after I get off the train at King’s Cross, and he looked really sad or whatever but before I could start shouting, he nodded and said he would. I don’t know what the arrangements are, but I’ll wing it, if I have to. 

In other words, if you turn up at King’s Cross even though I’ve told you to stay home, I’ll kill you. 

And I won’t even be nice about it. 

Made friends with a girl I met in the library. She’s a pureblood and she knows how these types of libraries work. I still can’t believe what kind of fuckass library doesn’t have an index or anything, how are we supposed to _find_ shit??? Pince keeps saying that if we _really_ need a book, we’ll be able to find it, but that’s the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever heard. Or at least, one of the stupidest things I’ve heard in the past two months. I know I normally like Librarians, but Pince is just a bitch. What kind of school librarian hates kids???

I’m not sure why I expected more from the same group of backward-ass clowns that came up with something as imprecise as ‘the wand chooses the wizard’, for fucks sake. 

I’ll deny it with my last breath if you ever tell anyone I said this, but sometimes it’s really tiring. It feels like the odds are stacked against us in every way because there’s this whole world we grew up not knowing about, and I can’t help thinking that if Mom had just stayed here, maybe… 

I dunno. 

Doesn’t matter. In a totally unrelated line of thinking, I’ve attached a couple of pages I tore out of a library book. I’m still trying to find more but as usual, no one can give me any straight answers. Take a look-see if you can find any books or references to something called Croaker’s law.

Dinner was great, as usual. I’ve got a lot to say about the magical world, don’t get me wrong, but they really do good food. Which raises an interesting question, actually. I haven’t seen any kitchens in the castle. I wonder where all the food comes from. Do you think we can make food out of magic? 

Al, I swear. I can’t wait til you get your letter. They won’t know what hit them. 

Stay out of trouble and be good. 

Ed. 

enc. Pages 394 to 398: Extracts from the 1947 edition of The History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. 

  
  


***

  
  


4 January 1990 (1st year)

Al, 

I miss you already. Don’t tell me I’m homesick, I’m not homesick, it’s just stupid to be here without you. I can’t wait til you get your letter. 

Ed

P.S. I had some apple pie today. It wasn’t as good as mom’s. 

  
  


***

  
  


4 June 1990 (1st year) 

Al,

I just finished my last exam - Defence. It was easy. They were _all_ easier than expected. Dunno what everyone was panicking about. Guess we’ll find out when I get my results this summer. 

I’ve made notes for you, so you don’t have to deal with the ridiculous library system here. Sheska still maintains that it’s just a question of wishing for a book hard enough, but that still sounds like mumbo-jumbo to me. 

Heh. I guess everything I’ve learned here this year is a type of mambo-jumbo, isn’t it? 

The last game for the quidditch cup was last week. I’ll admit it. It was good. You know me, I don’t think much of team sports - unless you and me are on the same team of course - but it was interesting. I think it’s grown on me. Slytherin crushed Gryffindor - it was incredible. Mustang, the Slytherin seeker, you know, did this thing where he did a vertical nose-dive from like, over a hundred feet in the air, just dropped like a stone, and everyone thought he’d spotted the snitch but then he veered off what looked like a couple of inches from the ground and the Gryffindor seeker smashed into the ground at full force. No one died, unfortunately, but I’m pretty sure it’s just because of magical healing. 

Mustang says the move is called a Wonky Faint. Or something like that, I wasn’t paying attention. 

I’m thinking I might try out for the Ravenclaw team, next year. I probably won’t get it - the automail would probably slow me down badly, but. It looked fun. 

Anyway, whatever. I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to see you. 

Ed. 

  
  


***

  
  


~~2 September 1991 (2nd year)~~

~~Al,~~

~~I’m so sorry. God. I wish -~~

~~I’m so -~~

  
  


***

  
  


~~2 September 1991 (2nd year)~~

~~Al,~~

~~I don’t know what to do, I’ve tried talking to Dumbledore, I don’t want to be here without you -~~

  
  


***

  
  


~~2 September 1991 (2nd year)~~

~~Please don’t hate me~~

  
  


***

  
  


3 September 1991 (2nd year)

Dear Al, 

I learned today that the proper way to start a letter is with the word ‘Dear’. 

I know you’re not mad at me, but I guess I’m mad at me. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I guess you know why I’m upset. I don’t want to be here without you. I can’t believe they won’t let you come. Your alchemy could outpower this bullshit magic _anyday_. 

Dumbledore keeps smiling at me, like he’s some kind old man. He tells me that my coming to Hogwarts won’t disrupt my relationship with you and all that jazz - I _know_ that. I never thought it would. I just. 

I miss you. I thought I’d quit. I mean, they can’t keep me here against my will, right? But then I knew you’d be mad at me for real, so I didn’t. I just wish you were here.

Some kid called Harry Potter was sorted today. Scrawny little thing, smaller even than I was, last year. Apparently he’s some sort of big deal around these parts. He was sorted into Gryffindor, and a lot of different people look to be feeling a lot of different ways about it. I don’t particularly care about wizarding politics, but it’s interesting. 

He’d have been in your year if -

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. 

I love you, Al. 

Ed

  
  


***

  
  


10 October 1991 (2nd year)

Al, 

The results of the quidditch try-outs just came out ten minutes before I wrote you this letter. I’ve been picked to be a beater! Can you imagine that! A _beater!_ They’re giving me a bat to hit things with!! 

_Me!_

There’s a voice in my head that sounds like you, and he says that a lot of people are probably going to regret this decision, but that I should have fun with it before they realise what they’ve done, so I’m gonna. No one’s going to know what hit them (pun intended). 

I don’t really have any other reason for writing, I just wanted to let you know. It stinks that they’re still not allowing you to visit, even to watch my first game. I don’t understand why. Sheska and I’ve been looking for historical precedent, where non-magical family members were allowed to visit. So far, nothing. 

And it’s not like these people are great about following the rules, anyway. Apparently Harry Potter got special dispensation to be the seeker for Gryffindor. He’s hardly even been here a month and he’s already breaking all the rules. Mustang is pissed, but that’s to be expected. 

The rule against first years joining the teams has been in place forever and it’s not fair that this kid comes in out of the blue and gets to rewrite them. 

At least, that’s what Mustang says. 

You’d like him. He’s what they call a “good influence”. Anyway, you know how I feel about rewriting rules. Still don’t exactly know what’s the big deal about first years playing quidditch. I’ll ask around. 

I hope you and Winry and Granny are doing okay. 

Ed

  
  


***

  
  


2 December 1991 (2nd year)

Al,

You’re probably right, Potter losing control of his broom is _probably_ why they don’t want first years playing quidditch, I _know_ , but I dunno. I dunno. Something tells me there was more to it than that. 

Mustang says I have a hyperactive and incredibly suspicious imagination for someone my age. The more he talks, the more I think the two of you would get along. 

It’s getting ridiculous, because he never actually shuts up, and I keep wondering if you’d like him. 

I miss you. 

Ed 

  
  


***

18 March 1992 (2nd year)

Al,

Spending our birthdays apart sucks. I was thinking we should do a double celebration when I’m back home this summer. TWO cakes and DOUBLE the presents, just because. I’ll try to make Mom’s pie, again. 

I’ve got some cool ~~shit~~ stuff for you that I’m not sending back with the winged rat. It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise. 

No one here knew it was my birthday, and I thought it was fine because I didn’t exactly want to celebrate it with anyone but you, but last night Mustang gave me a cupcake. It was a nice cupcake. I’d have saved half for you, but I haven’t learned how to do a good stasis charm yet. One day. 

Love you, twerp. Happy birthday. 

Ed

  
  


***

  
  


26 May 1992 (2nd year)

Al,

You know I don’t care about this house bullshit, but there was a big thing at the end of year feast and suddenly Gryffindor got a zillion points and won the house cup for no reason but GET _THIS_ -

Apparently one of the Teachers - Quirrell, you know, the racist garlic dude - had Lord Voldemort growing out of the back of his head? Like a straight up second face?

Al, I have SO MANY QUESTIONS. DID BOTH MOUTHS HAVE TO EAT. DID THEY SHARE A DIGESTIVE TRACT. A BRAIN??? NO ONE WILL TELL ME ANYTHING. 

But yeah. Apparently he’s evil. He was evil. And Potter killed him? With the power of love or some bullshit? I swear, Al, I could not make this up if I _tried_. Everyone’s freaking out about the whole thing, including Mustang. Lord Voldemort was from Slytherin house too, and that’s the reason they have such a bad rep. Sounds incredibly stupid if you ask me, not that anyone ever does. 

But I heard something really interesting, after all of the stuff went down, and it got me thinking… Have you heard of something called the philosopher's stone? Let’s talk when I get home.

See you soon, Al.

Love,

Ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know??? The first working escalator was invented in 1896. When the first escalator was installed at Harrods in London in 1898, passers by were so ‘unnerved’ that they had to be revived with smelling salts and cognac.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a poem titled “Magic” by Shel Silverstein. Send love, pls. I am weak. Also, I’m sending love back too. I hope you’re all okay, where ever you are <3


End file.
